When I Died Young
by rhead-a-holyc
Summary: You're sorry, but there's no longer a way for you to apologise, or say all of the things you mean to say. Character Death.


**Quidditch League Round 5: Appleby Arrows**

**Position: Chaser 2**

**Character: Montgommery **

**Scene: First Hogsmeade Weekend**

**Prompts: Pencil (word); Calculator (word); If I Die Young by Band Perry (song)**

**Note: Montgommery died at the age of five, after Fenrir Greyback attacked him in retaliation to his mother for not assisting the Death Eaters, during the Second War.**

**When I Died Young**

You feel the warm blood seeping down your neck, captured within your jumper now stained a crimson red that you can only just see out of the corner of your eye; in sharp contrast to the coldness you can feel beginning to cover your body like a blanket that you never wanted.

You hear your mother scream in pain and horror. You only vaguely notice your father leaving the room. Maybe he is trying to get help, you don't know, you are too tired to find out. You feel your eyes growing heavy, and your mother's screams grew only louder as she moves closer to where you lay.

You think that it's too early. This should never have happened to you so soon.

You were still supposed to go to Hogwarts, and have the Hogsmeade weekend you had always dreamed about. You can't help think about that dream again. Just one last time because you know somewhere deep inside you that your father is never going to make it on time, you are never going to get another chance.

So you close your eyes, scaring your mother, but launching yourself into your favourite daydream.

Your sister, Michaela, had promised to show you around Hogsmeade so you wouldn't get lost, but you didn't want her to show you around. You liked getting lost in new places. It meant that you would be able to find things no one ever found. It meant you could do whatever you wanted. It meant you could explore, and you loved exploring.

You wouldn't be alone though. Even though Michaela wouldn't be with you, you would have a few friends wandering Hogsmeade with you. You had always imagined that there would be four of you, three other faceless boys and you.

You were in Ravenclaw with all of your friends, of course. Jade, your second sister, always called you a human calculator for a reason. You were always good with numbers; your thoughts were always in order, always logical. That had always made your parents proud. You had always been proud of it yourself.

You had always imagined that it would be winter, and that snow would cover every available surface. You had always liked snow. Snow had always seemed so innocent and pure to you. You had never been unable to admire its simple beauty and charm that nothing else ever managed to achieve.

You imagined standing outside the Shrieking Shack while the wind whistled around you and your friends, whispering ghost stories your mother had told you when you had been younger. All those scary stories that you once believed in as a child would be retold, you imagined your friends staring apprehensively at the crumbly house.

You throw a snowball at them then, and laugh at how they had fallen so easily for your story. Your friends glare at you, before catching you off guard with a snowball to the face. You splutter and laugh, removing bits of ice and snow from your clothing, before you get hit by another snowball. You glare then, marking the beginning of one of the biggest snowball fights you would ever have in your life. There isn't any magic use allowed because you aren't within the Hogwarts grounds but that is just fine with you, because you certainly don't need magic for everything.

You start trudging your way back to the main road of Hogsmeade then, tired and a bit colder than you originally expected. You enter the Three Broomsticks, a whirl of snow coming in with you. The people inside look up, momentarily, to glare at you and your friends, all of them shivering slightly with your entrance, but you wouldn't notice because you are laughing too hard at the pieces of snow that were beginning to melt in your friend's black hair, making him look like he had taken a swim recently.

You suddenly shiver. It isn't from the dream anymore. You feel the prickly feeling that was so similar to the one you had that day you poked yourself with the pencil your mother had bought you to draw with, except it was more than one pencil, it was thousands. Your mind can only feel the pain, but no, just a little longer. You want to finish your dream.

You have to.

You ignore your slight shiver, convincing yourself that it was just because the previously covered skin on your arm had momentarily been exposed to the frigid air. It stung like fire, and you knew you would make sure you never had to feel that type of cold again; a silent promise to never willingly feel pain like that again.

All of you sit together, warmed by laughter until your butterbeer arrives. The butterbeer doesn't stop your laughter and jokes, it only slows it, until one of your friends makes a joke and you're taken by surprise. The mouthful of butterbeer that you've just drunk goes flying out of your mouth. Your friends laugh, half in disgust and half in genuine amusement of what had happened. You can't help but laugh too.

The shivering gets stronger, but you continue to cling on to your daydream.

Finally, the pub begins to empty and you know that you need to start the journey back to Hogwarts.

You feel a sinking feeling within your body as the door opens. The whiteness outside is as pure as it always is, but now it is also dangerous. It isn't just a playful breeze filled with innocent solidified water, but now it had the force of an angry river that wants to push you back into reality.

You know it is going to succeed, but you fight anyway. You don't want to go back to where you know blood is still oozing out your neck, and your mother is sobbing her heart out willing to take your place if given half a chance.

But you know you had to return. You couldn't linger in this fantasy any longer.

You slip back into reality, the icy coldness coming with you.

You're in your mother's arms, just like you had been when you were younger after a terrible nightmare. Except this time, the nightmare was real. You aren't going to wake up.

Your mother is rocking your body as she murmurs apology after apology, mixed with whispers of love. You feel you should be the one apologizing for putting her through so much pain, for not being more careful. Your father re-enters the room. Your mother looks up, and a single tear drops onto your face, her hands are still carding through your short hair. You know your blood is probably staining her expensive dress, but she doesn't seem to care.

Your eyelids start to grow heavy, and you feel your mother's body begin to shake as sobs wrack her body.

You're sorry, but there's no longer a way for you to apologise, or say all of the things you mean to say.

You open your eyes. It's a struggle, but you win. You lock eyes with your mother, and for a moment you believe she understands everything you are trying to say, but you can't keep your eyes open any longer, and they close.

You hear your mother scream, but it seems like it's coming from far away. You think you feel your body being shaken, but you are no longer certain.

It almost feels like you're flying.

Perhaps you are.


End file.
